


rooftops

by poppiess



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Latino Roman, M/M, Soulmate AU, a bit of fluff!, adorable toddler deceit, african american logan, deceit has a corn snake, italian patton, mostly angst, no capital letters but that may change if i can be bothered, no nfsw outright but it’s implied, oh no! virgil doesn’t have one, onesided moxiety at the beginning, patton and virgil are childhood best friends, patton has a cat called gisoué, that soulmate au where your soulmate’s name is on your wrist, virgil gets sad and becomes a rebellious bad boy, virgil learns a lesson about life, you know what just read the darn fic i spent forever on this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 21:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17885708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppiess/pseuds/poppiess
Summary: it’s one of those things that’s known, not taught: everyone has a soulmate, just like everyone breathes and sleeps and has a heart beating in their chest. their name is written on your wrist and it’s up to you to find them from there. but you will, of course, because everyone has a soulmate....except virgil. everyone in the world, except virgil webb, has a soulmate.did the universe slip and miss a spot? does life just absolutely hate him? virgil doesn’t know, but he sure would like to.(in which virgil ignores, hates, detests and loves the empty space on his wrist.)





	1. patton moretti is far too sweet

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this was originally a oneshot that got too long so now it’s a story! it won’t be super long or plotfilled, although i do have a cool story in the works which will be full of that stuff :)
> 
> here are the warnings for this chapter!  
> \- onesided love  
> \- unrequited love  
> \- it’s a bit angsty!  
> \- bullying
> 
> enjoy!  
> \- prim

virgil’s wrist was blank. at first, he really didn’t mind.

because when you’re a kid, you just don’t care about the future. when you’re young, applesauce and milk are the only things that matter. don’t know what you’re going to be? who gives a shit! here, crawl around in a box of sand for three hours and you’ve filled your quota for the day. do babies just sit up in the middle of naptime and go ‘woah, oh man, i better start looking for collages or i’ll end up working in retail for the rest of my life!’ then start chewing anxiously on their tiny baby nails whilst considering their degree? no they do not! goddamn it, why couldn’t it stay like that? why couldn’t he just salivate and cry for the rest of his life? why’d he have to get smart?

virgil webb didn’t remember the day he looked at his blank wrist and realised what it really, truly, actually _meant_ in the grand scheme of things. he remembered his mother’s gentle smile and her tortured eyes as she stroked his pale little forearm on the night of his sixth birthday. he didn’t remember what his response was when she started crying.

he didn’t remember.

at some point, though, he learned and acknowledged that he had no name on his wrist: ergo, he had no soulmate, ergo, he was alone for life. did he sink into a depression at the tender age of six, give or take a couple of days? no he did not! he was six! all he cared about was batman and fingerpainting! he probably realised he would die alone, shrugged it off, and went downstairs to push a vase off the table or something.

virgil had a friend - patton moretti, a small, freckly kid with a mess of dark brown curls, two years his senior, who lived next door. their houses were barely a metre apart. if he stood on his windowsill, opened his window and reached, his fingertips could brush the brickwork of the other house. it was comforting.

he and patton were a classic duo. the former was shy and timid whilst the latter was outgoing and loveable - they made a great team. together, they chased cats through fields and climbed trees then fell out of them and conquered the woods in their name, as best friends do.

‘i don’t have... any words on my wrist,’ virgil admitted once, nestled into the crook of a tree.

‘oh, that’s cool,’’ said patton, hanging upside-down from a branch. ‘let’s go look for fairies by the lake!’

they went to different schools but they were closer than brothers, two peas in a pod, and they would stay that way regardless of what it said (or rather, didn’t say) on their wrists. so, for kid virgil, everything was pretty darn great. he had patton and his parents and a gigantic book about bats to read at bedtime, who needed a soulmate?

unfortunately, virgil was not bitten by a vampire or cursed (blessed?) to remain a child for life. instead he did as kids generally do and grew up into a quiet eleven-year-old who soon traded the fingerpaints for a neat little set of colouring pencils. he wore oversized hoodies and didn’t raise his hand in class, so nobody at school found out about his…soulmate-less-ness. there, he was just a shy art kid - a slightly moody, very normal art kid, not really a people-person, as his mother loved to say, a self-declared outcast, not a forced one. older-but-still-young virgil was pretty happy.

until a girl saw his empty wrist during p.e one lesson.

did this girl stop to consider virgil’s feelings before opening her mouth to the entire school? hell no! this was middle school - a juicy piece of gossip was like an instant popularity potion! the truth came out, and the kids in his class, as kids generally do, decided to bully virgil mercilessly from that moment on.

he’d never had reason to consider himself as deformed or wrong before. his parents were supportive, patton was great, and he himself didn’t really mind being different. but now, here, kids were _afraid_ of him. kids took one look at him and assumed he was some kind of freak. kids would avoid him and whisper about him and stay away from him, all because he didn’t have a name on his wrist.

‘you don’t have one because nobody loves you,’ one faceless kid called out to him one lunchtime, before scampering away to snicker at him from afar. virgil had never thought about it like that before.

he decided that he didn’t need a soulmate anyway, and that all the other kids in his school were lame and boring, and that he didn’t need anyone’s company but his own. nobody wanted to sit with him? he didn’t care. now he had a whole lunch table to himself, cool! he was alone for every group project? great! no annoying partners or lack of contribution on their part. no friends? patton was enough, and he saw him on the weekends, so he was doing fine! yes, virgil was fine, fine, fine. he didn’t want to stupid name or a stupid soulmate or a stupid social life or friends.

and so at ten years old, virgil was no longer fine with his wrist’s stark blankness, no matter how he pretended to be.

———————

one night, a few years later, virgil was staring aimlessly out of the window to avoid at his homework when he spotted patton’s silhouette hunched on the roof, face turned away. something cold and heavy filled virgil’s heart, but he shimmied through the open window onto the broad windowsill anyway and hoisted himself onto the warm slate. crossing the daunting gap between rooves was never fun, but he completed the leap with barely a shiver and lowered himself down behind patton. his chocolate curls were mussed and he held his head in his hands.

‘pat? are you…’ patton swung around, his eyes wet and shining. not for the first time of the late, virgil’s eyes wandered to the words on his honey-dark wrist, and everything fell into place with an unsettling click.

‘that boy,’ virgil whispered, numb with something almost like fear. ‘did you find out his name?’

‘yes,’ breathed patton, trembling. ‘it’s logan. he’s logan. he’s my soulmate.’

they sat in silence for a moment, a warm breeze ruffling their hair as they gazed up at the heather sky, dotted with hazy stars.

‘how’d you find out?’

‘well…’ patton took a deep, shaky breath,

‘i passed him in the corridor as usual and he looked kind of stressed or tired so i said “why do flamingos sleep with one leg up?” and he went “to retain body heat-“ and i yelled “because if they slept with two legs up they would fall over!” and he rolled his eyes and groaned and said “you are the worst person i have ever met-“‘

‘geez, harsh…’

‘and then i said “no, i’m patton!” and he let out this soft little wheeze which he tried to cover up with a cough and my heart was thumping so i was like “are you okay?” and he said really quietly “no, i’m logan” then smacked himself with his chemistry textbook and ran to his next class! and i tried to follow him but he…’ patton paused to gulp for air, his frenzied smile falling a touch, ‘he was gone.’

‘you sure he’s the right logan?’ virgil asked (out of genuine interest, absolutely not false hope).

‘i looked him up in the yearbook, he’s definitely logan lockheart! and he’s my age but in the grade above me, and he’s really really smart and serious, and vee, i’m so… i’m so confused!’ patton hugged his knees, fresh tears welling up in his eyes. virgil nodded slightly in encouragement. he couldn’t quite catch his breath. ‘i like him, i really do, but… i don’t understand. i always thought he’d be… y’know, different. sweet! an animal lover! someone who laughs a lot and likes dog walks on the beach! not… well, him.’

‘aww, pat…’ virgil ran a hopefully comforting hand over patton’s back. ‘he could still be those things, you know. you barely know him.’ _or_ _not_. _there_ _could_ _be_ _a_ _mistake_. _we_ _could_ _both_ _be_ _soulmateless_ _together_.

patton’s lip trembled but he forced a smile. ‘you’re right, vee. assumptions are bad and i shouldn’t have judged him _so_ quickly.’

 _a_ _mistake_. _a_ _flaw_ _in_ _the_ _system_. maybe logan didn’t have patton’s name on his wrist! it was wrong to hope, evil to hope, but all the same…

pat’s sniffles diminished into a comfortable silence as a dark flush spread across the horizon and the warm tiles below them began to grow colder. the great willow which grew in between their gardens nodded and whispered in the breeze, silhouetted against a rosy sky. something was crumbling in virgil’s chest, some deep-rooted fantasy he’d never acknowledged before.

after a while, patton turned with a gentle smile. ‘the sunset’s lovely, isn’t it?’

‘mmm,’ murmured virgil. he didn’t quite have patton’s eye for beauty, but it certainly was very nice.

‘it’s getting cold, anyway. i’d best be going in. hey! you can come over for dinner if you want! mom’s making our special pasta recipe.’

oh, he wanted to accept. he ached to, to laugh and slip through patton’s window and joke around with his mother and play with his little brother declan, to help put the garlic bread in the oven and to breathe in the heavy scent of woodsmoke and spice, to be part of the beautiful mundanity of the moretti family for just a minute, just a second. through the settling darkness, virgil caught sight of patton’s wrist again. logan lockheart, it read, plain as day.

‘vee? coming?’

‘i…’ virgil swallowed, tears beginning to rise up in his eyes. ‘i have to go. congrats, though. really. it’s great.’

he jumped down onto his windowsill and ducked through the window, pulling the shutters tightly closed.

he might’ve heard the frantic knocking. he might’ve heard his best friend’s gentle voice, confused and afraid, calling out to him. he might’ve heard patton’s mother yell something in italian and the choked-up reply. he might’ve heard patton’s blue converse scraping against the windowframe as he turned away.

it was far easier to pretend he hadn’t.

the next day, virgil would knock on patton’s door, eyes full of tears and stuttered apologies. patton would forgive him, and they’d hug before going indoors. the kitchen would be cozy and cluttered, his mother would ruffle virgil’s hair and offer him a lick of her wooden spoon, declan would be playing with his corn snake under the table. they’d rush into the garden to follow the family cat on its trails, under the hedge and across the brook and into the cool, dark woods. they’d climb a mossy oak, talk awhile, then slip back down to chase bejewelled dragonflies as they flitted idly over the lake. they’d run up the banks and through the fields, fall into the long tufts of grass and lie, dreaming, until the sun sank lower into the sky. they’d return home with armfuls of flowers, which mrs. moretti would gather into an exquisite glass vase and set on the table with dinner. they would eat together under the soft glow of the fairylights, which declan loved. ‘they look like stars,’ the six-year-old would giggle through a mouthful of pasta. everyone would smile.

but for now, virgil threw himself into his pillow and cried himself to sleep.


	2. logan lockheart is unfairly cool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there! here are the warnings for this chapter:
> 
> \- angst  
> \- rejection (indirect)
> 
> enjoy :)  
> \- prim

virgil decided he hated it. he hated not having a soulmate.

everyone else had one - be they platonic, romantic or familial, everybody else in the world had a name on their wrist. he’d researched his ‘condition’ online and found nothing but fairytales.

(the boy who couldn’t love. the girl with empty wrists. the child with no soulmate. it was quite insulting, really.)

he wasn’t on the ace-spec, like his friend remy (and if he was, he’d have a platonic soulmate, but his wrist was completely bare). he wasn’t geographically isolated - he went to school in the city, he walked past hundreds of new people every day. did it mean he would die before meeting his soulmate? surely he’d still  _ have _ one, in that case? both his parents had soulmates (obviously) as did the rest of his family, as far as he knew. yep, everybody else in the entire world had a soulmate. that was how the almighty motherfucking universe  _ worked _ . so why,  _ why _ , did the almighty motherfucking universe decide to single  _ him,  _ virgil sanders, self-proclaimed nobody and professional moody art kid, out? dick move, universe.  _ dick move. _

on the monday following the rooftop incident and the subsequent day in the forest, patton cornered his supposed soulmate in the bathroom during morning break and (after a lot of swearing, sweating and stuttering) confirmed they were soulmates. one week later, patton was feeling a little less confused about his future. he seemed warmer, lighter, more alive. a smile danced across his lips and his mind seemed to wander more often than usual - virgil peeked through the blinds one day to see patton leaning on his windowsill, dreamy-eyed and pink-cheeked, gazing up at the sky. one month later, virgil met the famous logan for the first time.

patton’s bedroom was a colourful affair. one wall was papered entirely with polaroid pictures - of his school friends, of his dogs, of the cat, of virgil, of himself. some of the more recent ones involved a reluctant looking logan. virgil examined one - his brow was furrowed, his mouth hung open slightly, as if in protest, his hands clutching the half-open book which lay in front of him. it was pinned over a picture virgil himself had taken, of patton tucked into a crook in their favourite tree.   
‘one sec, i just need to feed giosuè! i’ll be right back, okay? you two introduce yourselves!’    
the silence that followed was deafening.

virgil swallowed, looked down, looked up again, sat down in patton’s desk chair, sighed, licked his lips, opened his mouth, closed it, and looked down again.

‘y-you come here often?’ he managed to force out.  _ great job! i sound like a cowboy or something. why don’t i think before i speak?  _ admittedly, logan would look good in a cowboy hat. _ logan would probably look good in anything. curse you, pubescent brain! shut up for one minute, will you? _ __   
‘i have visited patton’s home a number of times before this occasion. yourself?’ logan replied, before wincing.   
a wry smile rose unbidden to virgil’s lips. for some reason, logan’s slip up made him feel a little more confident.  ‘nope. this is my first time.’   
‘sarcasm, i take it?’ logan’s tone was dry. 

‘i’m fluent. so, you go to pat’s school?’

‘yes. we have chemistry and mathematics together.’

‘oh, cool beans.’

‘cool… beans?’ an expression of confusion crossed logan’s face. ‘i’m afraid i don’t quite…’ he reached into his bag and pulled out a hefty stack of flashcards. ‘would you mind explaining?’

virgil was amused. ‘flashcards?’ 

‘i am not particularly great at reading social cues. patton suggested flashcards to memorise popular words, in order to understand my peers better.’

‘oh.’ virgil smiled a bit, and explained the term. whilst logan scribbled, his eyes began to wander.

‘hey, i like your doctor who bag. you have a good taste in shows.’   
‘from the look of your my chemical romance t-shirt, you have a terrible taste in music,’   
logan commented, without raising his head. 

_ the audacity! _ usually virgil’s teeth would be bared by now. instead, he found himself actually kind of  _ liking _ the nerd.

a grin came to his face and he stuck out his hand. ‘virgil sanders.’   
the boy across the room looked up. ‘logan lockheart,’ he replied, and took it.

and that was the worst part, he reflected later on. he liked him. sure, he was a nerd. sure, he had a tendency to info-dump. sure, he seemed to have a personal vendetta against the best band in the world, but… god _ damn _ , he was cool. patton certainly seemed to agree.

how was he supposed to hate him now?

——————————————

a couple months later,  patton and logan had their first kiss, behind the main building after school.

it was 10:32pm and virgil wasn’t tired at all. his homework was done, his phone was downstairs and he couldn’t be bothered to get it, he’d hit a brick wall with his most recent drawing and his fingers were restless. with nothing else to do, he crawled onto his desk and unlatched the window. it swung outwards, and the cool night air rushed in, soothing his pink cheeks and flushed forehead. he leaned out for a while, eyes closed, drinking in the scent of honeysuckle and moonshine.

something shifted in his peripheral vision. someone was on the roof.

patton had been busy recently, what with his fancy new boyfriend and ever fancier private school exams (he supposed he couldn’t really blame him for either of those things, but it still sucked.) sure, he talked to virgil whenever they crossed paths, but his eyes seemed to wander after a few minutes as if there were better things on his mind. roof-time used to be a nightly occurrence. now it was weekly at best. it wasn’t the same.

virgil opened his mouth, but something seized his throat and he swallowed the greeting along with his tongue.

patton wasn’t alone on the roof. logan was up there too. 

heart thudding, virgil leaned out a little further. they seemed to be talking - about what? school? life? him? everything and nothing? how comfy the slate was? how pretty the view was? what a perfect spot it was for them to kiss and cuddle and fall in love? 

how friends were great to hold you off until your soulmate came along?

his lip curled as hot tears welled up in his eyes.  _ this is mine and virgil’s special safe place,  _ patton was probably saying.  _ come on in, logan! don’t bother taking off your shoes, you’ll only trample the treasured childhood memories! you can take a seat right there in virgil’s spot. he won’t mind! wow, it’s so nice to hand out with someone who’s not a damn freak.  _ virgil’s hands were shaking now. it wasn’t fucking fair.

_ come on, virgil,  _ soothed a voice that sounded far too much like patton’s at the back of his head.  _ you’re getting upset over nothing.  _ but it wasn’t nothing. it was their waning conversations, their shrinking interactions, patton’s eyes wandering over his head, as if wishing a certain someone else’s face was there. it was patton’s distant tone. it was how their nightly ‘i love you’s’ had fallen into ‘goodbye’s’. yeah, it was selfish to blame patton. it was terrible to blame patton. well, maybe virgil was more terrible than he’d previously thought. he leaned back into the window frame, the fresh breeze slipping away.

maybe he should just… step out. wouldn’t it be better for them both?

logan didn’t fit in, but he was so  _ achingly _ cool. he had serious grey eyes and slicked-back black curls and a series of white patterned button-ups which brought out his smooth chestnut skin. he wore pristine vermillion converse and rectangular-rimmed glasses, and he liked doctor who and he was a giant fucking nerd, and he probably didn’t have to sit alone at lunch, either. nobody at school even wanted to  _ touch  _ virgil. 

all he’d had was patton. and now-

their fingers interlaced and logan leaned in. he could feel their pulses quickening, could see his best friend’s eyelashes flutter. 

he drew the blinds shut.

now he had nobody.

his wrist prickled and he looked down at it, unaware he’d been digging his fingernails into his skin. gritting his teeth, he blinked the tears from his eyes with herculean effort and forced a smile onto his face. so it was going to be like that, huh? he’d stay alone whilst everyone around him coupled up? sure. let it be like that. he didn’t care. 

a scraping laugh bubbled up from his throat, low and dark around the edges. so the world was going to be a big black boot? well, he refused to be a muddy puddle. if he could never fit in with society, why even bother trying? he loosened his school tie.

through a crack in the blinds, virgil caught sight of patton laughing. his smile tightened, widening until it felt as though his skin would break.  _ let it. _

‘fuck the universe,’ he murmured to himself, ‘time to break things.’ 

rolling up his shirt cuffs, he turned his back on the window and pushed all things soulmate to the back of his mind.


	3. saffron webb is very confused

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! yes saffron webb is an oc but only because there was literally nobody else who could take her place. i didn’t even intend for her to be a character she just?? appeared?? and i went along with it from there
> 
> warnings for this chapter:  
> \- bit of anxiety  
> \- a police chase  
> \- something someone can’t change about themself being referred to as a ‘condition’ which can be ‘cured’ 
> 
> i write slowly so the next chapter may take like a week or so to be done, sorry!  
> enjoy :)  
> \- prim

saffron webb waved off her son with a bright smile, shut the door behind him and sank into the couch to take a deep breath. she didn’t know what to do.

in the recent months, virgil had been leaving for school earlier and earlier and staying up later and later. her phone was full of emails from teachers, notices about frequent absences and an increasing amount of detentions. his grades stayed high but his attitude to learning dropped like a stone. he had no friends at school that she knew of, yet when he wasn’t hunched over homework his window was open and his bedroom was empty. she’d found cigarettes on the kitchen table and the packet was half finished. patton moretti, virgil’s best friend since forever, had slowly stopped calling. 

whatever happened to her sweet, quiet little boy?

saffron stood and made her way over to the sink. she picked up a dirty plate and made no motion to wash it. tonight was parent’s evening, and she really didn’t know what to expect - could she really handle a solid confirmation that her son had gone rogue? 

she shook her head. surely it was a phase. surely he’d outgrow this; soon he’d come to his senses and let her kiss his forehead again. but what if he wouldn’t? what if he never did? anxiety seized her gut and she swallowed it down hard, taking in a deep breath. webbs were worriers, not warriors - the family motto. her son was no exception. right? did she know him enough to make that claim? they never talked about him, she’d noticed. when she tried probing into his life, he’d shift the conversation onto another track. he was locked and barred and only sixteen.

saffron put down the plate, shook her head and lifted a basket of freshly folded clothes onto her hip. virgil’s favourite purple hoodie sat at the top and she smiled at it fondly before climbing the stairs, leaning hard on the bannister to take the weight off her knees (her joints were terrible, so were virgil’s). he’d taken all the stickers off his door a couple of months ago, and the hallway looked so bare and plain without them. she pushed in, taking in the heavy smell of some kind of paint. 

careful not to disturb anything, she crept across the carpet, setting down the laundry with shaking hands. the dresser was littered with paintbrushes and pencils and splatters of acrylic, and  _ oh  _ she was so desperate to touch, to clean the delicate tips of the brushes and wipe off the surface, or even just to clear away the cups of dirty paint water. but then he’d know she’d trespassed, and saffron couldn’t stand the thought of her son drifting further away.

top drawer, middle drawer, full of badly folded clothes and more art supplies - cans of spray paint she definitely hadn’t bought him. her stomach flipped and she picked one up. it was half empty. bottom drawer, boxes: broken earphones and old schoolbooks and binders full of drawings from when he was little. her heart seared, but before she could shut it the glossy sheen of a polaroid caught her eye. carefully, with surgical precision, she fished it out from underneath a tub of assorted nail polishes. she raised it up and her breath caught - it was a slightly crumpled picture of patton, younger, freckled, shiny-eyed, his cat giosuè bundled up in his arms. it occurred to her how long it had been since she’d seen him. she didn’t often speak to his mother (oh, she was nice enough, just so…  _ loud _ and  _ gutsy  _ where saffron was small and meek. all webbs were, even her husband, who wasn’t one by blood) but she’d always had a soft spot for that boy. he was sweet.

she slid the picture back under the tub and sat back on her heels, mind reeling. virgil had never explained why he’d stopped calling patton, he’d never even brought it up, but she could tell this photo had been revisited recently. what was going on?

saffron stood up. she shut the door and walked out of the room.

——————————————

virgil’s ears pricked and his breath hitched in his throat - far off, the unmistakable wail of a siren.  _ shit. _

he stuffed the purple spray-paint can into his pocket and shimmied a couple of rungs down the ladder, dipping into the blocky shadow of the surrounding buildings. ‘they’re coming, let’s go!’ he yelled to his accomplices further down. the call bounced from teen to teen and, one at a time, they dropped from their various positions up the wall. across the street, a yellow light burned in a window. a silhouette watched them abandon their posts, slipping their phone into their pocket.

the sirens were getting closer, and virgil felt that familiar roar of adrenaline splutter to life in his chest. it was intoxicating: the way the electricity poured into his veins, his nerves, his reflexes, allowing him to sail down the ladder without looking down; the way it surged down his spine as he dived for the ground, rolling out the impact, catching him when he stumbled and setting him upright; the way it teased the backs of his legs with flame, the way it clutched his heart, the way it snatched every thought from his head but  _ run, run, run. _ he lived for that rush.  _  ‘freeze! _ ’ someone yelled, as they skidded around a corner and ran for it. virgil was always so afraid - of people, he was afraid of opening his mouth, he was afraid of words - but here, now, hip to hip with an almost stranger, tearing through long grass with a pack of wild teenagers, the police hot on their heels and a dark forest ahead of them, he knew no fear. there was no past, no future, only his legs and the adrenaline and the heavy  _ thud, thud, thud _ of his heart.

fingers brushed his shoulderblades and fastened themselves into the folds of his jacket. virgil shrugged it off his back and hurled it, laughter bubbling up from his throat as the night air cooled his hot skin. the officers pursuing them stumbled to a halt, yelling into their radios. the herd of teens kept up the pace until they reached the outskirts of the woods, where they slid under a hefty tree branch one after the other and split off from there, their breathless goodbyes and hoots of exhausted glee fading off as virgil legged it down a narrow footpath. nettles and twigs lurched for his ankles and somewhere, through a thick dim fog, he felt a distant flare of pain. his half mask (which was incredibly cool) came loose and he slipped it onto his forehead. yet still he ran, even as his breaths became strangled wheezes, even as his throat burned and his eyes stung, even all light diminished and left him stumbling after every stride. the sirens trailed off into nothing, the breeze hardened and froze against his bare arms, and only when he tripped on a root and tumbled, winded, into a ditch, did virgil stop running.

he lay there for a few minutes, gulping down oxygen, allowing his galloping heart to slow to a manageable trot.  _ fucking hell, that was too close. _ he was still grinning.

eventually he sat up, groping around in his back pocket for his phone (which, thank the stars, was still there). texts were coming through at the speed of light, but he scrolled past them and flicked on the torch.  _ time to figure out where the fuck i am and hopefully get home without being arrested and/or killed! _

as google maps loaded, virgil looked down at the spray bottles in his belt. he was nearly out of pink.

——————————————

‘i don’t understand,’ murmured saffron web, understanding perfectly.

‘we’re... concerned, for virgil,’ the grey man said to the coffee stain on his desk. ‘his behaviour is simply unacceptable.’

‘that’s...’ she twisted her fingers together. ‘his grades are still high-’

‘sure, he’s intelligent,’ said the man - a mr. griffin murphy, virgil’s head of year. ‘but he’s a troublemaker. he may not be loud and rough like the other boys, but he’s cunning. he can aggravate or persuade the others to cause disruptions and never get caught. his homework and exam results are some of the best in his age group, but his classwork is dismal, if it even exists. he talks back to teachers, gets under their skin. plus, we believe he and some friends have been vandalising - we found a mural painted on the inner door of one of the boy’s bathrooms.’ he sat back in his chair, appearing satisfied, and licked his lips, giving his bowtie a wiggle.

‘impossible.’ saffron ran the tip of her finger over the hem of her skirt. ‘virgil is… he’s  _ not-’ _

‘i don’t intend to pry, but is there something going on at home, ms webb? something that could’ve sparked this… misbehaviour?’

‘not at all,’ she whispered. her throat had suddenly gone dry. ‘his father and i are happy.  _ he’s  _ happy! he’s just a normal- well-‘ saffron swallowed hard. ‘he’s a normal kid, except for the… well, his-’

‘situation regarding his apparent lack of soulmate?’ 

saffron frowned. ‘we don’t really like to phrase it like  _ that, _ but-’

‘i believe his condition is behind his behavioural issues. have you considered therapy?’

‘well i- no, but… behavioural issues? i didn’t think he needed-‘ 

‘i can refer you to a local therapist, if you’d like? emile picani, he’s quite eccentric, but he specialises in soulmates. perhaps he’d be able to cure virgil!’

‘cure? we don’t see it as something that needs curing-‘

‘once he’s fixed, we could observe his behaviour from there. i’m sure he’d improve. would you discuss this with him?’

‘i’d rather not stress-‘

’could i take your details to-‘

‘mr murphy?’

‘oh, and a home punishment may be in order too-‘

‘mr murphy-‘

‘i recommend a two weeks’ grounding-‘

‘mr murphy!’

murphy looked up at her and put down the pen.

‘i think i… i think i need to discuss this with virgil. thank you for your… well, thank you.’

she picked up her purse, dipped her head, and marched stiffly out the office. the hallway beyond was far too bright.

——————————————

he came out of the woods in patton’s garden. fucking google maps.

his heartbeat was erratic, a nervous hummingbird fighting to break loose from his chest, as he ducked behind a bush and cursed through gritted teeth. he peeked through the leaves and saw a light in patton’s window -  _ even better! now what? i’m not climbing through my own hedge. _

already mourning his dignity, virgil dropped onto his stomach, his chin smacking into the dirt. ‘ _ fucking ow!’ _ he hissed under his breath, before sliding on his stomach through the trees and onto the grass, snake style. his spray cans were digging into his skin, but the silhouette at the window showed no signs of seeing him. once he’d reached the shadow of the fence he rose up onto his knees, shrinking into the wood behind him - he was in full view of the kitchen, and bella was probably at the stove right now, warming dee a pan of milk. virgil felt himself smile fondly at the memory of patton’s little brother, his wild curls and big, blinking eyes (one brown, one amber) and soft lisp. he wondered if that little corn snake he loved so much was still wrapped around his wrist.

_ dee’s eight now,  _ virgil reminded himself.  _ there’ll be a name there instead. now, go through the fence gap! you’re running out of time! _

he moved to slip under the jagged hole, but stopped.

the fence was still littered with carvings. wobbly cats drawn by patton, several bats referenced from ‘bats of the world’ signed ‘v.w’, a few lines of writing. some were unintelligible from age, but some stood out: ‘our speshul fense gate, keep ot!’ and ‘p+v for ever!’ were among them. virgil stooped, his face soft, and ran his thumb over the letters. someone was yelling in the back of his head, but the words bounced off him - he knew he needed to leave but he was oh,  _ so  _ desperate to stay, to make things right.

virgil looked up at the window. patton was staring down at him, open-mouthed.

quick as a flash, he leapt onto the fence and dashed into his own garden before patton could call his name, somehow more scared than he’d been when the police were on his tail. he had to get in,  _ now _ .

his mother’s car pulled into the drive and virgil began to wish he’d never gone out in the first place.

abandoning his paint cans, he sprinted for the great willow, planting his hands in the first nook he spotted and pulling himself up. he was strong and lithe, but the pressure and fear rendered him a shaking mess and he stumbled, nearly falling. it took him a few moments to recover before he bounded upon another branch, the tree shaking as he did so.  _ fucking shit! please don’t let me fall… _ he spotted another accessible branch and reached for it, but lost his footing as he did so, leaving him dangling from his hands. the wood was brittle and he almost dropped from terror alone, but he managed to plant his feet on a smaller branch and steady himself. from there he jumped up to cling on a knot, almost slipping again as he heard patton’s back door jiggle open, before snagging a particularly bendy limb and generating a particularly stupid idea as he did so. patton’s feet were falling on the grass now.  _ curse my fucking pride! god, this had better work, or i’m quite literally dead.  _

just as patton called his name, virgil launched himself from the branch he was standing on, swinging round until his feet came in contact with his window sill. he released the bough in his hands and it pinged back as he rolled smoothly through his open window and into his mother’s feet.

_ well, fuck. _


End file.
